<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>sons and daughters of hungry ghosts by blondsak, seekrest</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796262">sons and daughters of hungry ghosts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak'>blondsak</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest'>seekrest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Natasha Romanoff is a little shit, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter and Natasha's terrible horrible no good very bad night, Protective Peter Parker, two spiders being bros</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:14:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak, https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/pseuds/seekrest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look awful,” Natasha says in lieu of a greeting, Peter rolling his eyes underneath the mask as he rubs his hands against his arms.</p><p>“Yeah well, I’ve had better nights. What’s up?”</p><p>Natasha shrugs. “It won't take long.”</p><p>“You mind telling me what <i>it</i> is?” Peter asks as he hops back and forth again.</p><p>Natasha turns away from him and down the alleyway, Peter following closely behind as she says, “Need your help with something, like I said. And I knew I could count on you.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>304</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sons and daughters of hungry ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterstank/gifts">peterstank</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday peterstank! We love you and your stories! Hope you enjoy this little tribute to your favorite spider bros &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p><p>All Russian comes straight from Mother Google-- apologies in advance if anything is incorrect.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter swings, gently landing in the alleyway she told him to meet her in. Immediately, he hops back and forth - rubbing his hands together. The heater in the suit was fine when he was swinging but now, standing on cold concrete, Peter can’t ignore how freezing it is - making a mental note to figure out how to transfer some of the heat towards his boots.</p><p> </p><p>“She better hurry up,” Peter mutters to himself, only to turn when he hears her - a smirk on her face as she eyes him up and down.</p><p> </p><p>“You look like shit,” Natasha Romanoff says in lieu of a greeting, Peter rolling his eyes underneath the mask as he rubs his hands against his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah well, I’ve had better nights. What’s up? You said you needed me for something?” </p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugs, “This isn’t gonna take long.”</p><p> </p><p>“You mind telling me what <em>this</em> is?” Peter asks as he hops back and forth again.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turns away from him and down the alleyway, Peter following closely behind as she says, “Need your help with something, like I said. And I knew I could count on you.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter lets out a sharp huff, “Well yeah, sure but-- I also can’t help but remember what happened last time we played in the snow together. You abandoned me right after we took out that weird Wampa-looking thing to go meet Sam at that hibachi grill on 57th. I had to haul the carcass two miles across town by <em> myself. </em> In a <em> blizzard.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah,” Nat says without looking back at him. “How’d that go?”</p><p> </p><p>“Bad. Really, <em> really </em> bad.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry to hear that. My yakisoba was absolutely fabulous, by the way. You should take MJ there for a date sometime.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter rolls his eyes, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as they turn a corner. He wants to ask what is going on again, but he’s fairly certain he won’t get anything but another vague response. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha doesn’t give things away until she wants to, after all.</p><p> </p><p>They’re just passing by a rowhouse basement bar - Peter hearing raucous laughter and cheesy 80s rock playing within - when Natasha turns around to face him, face blank. </p><p> </p><p>“We still have some time to kill,” she says, then nodding to the bar, “Wanna get a drink?”</p><p> </p><p>Peter’s lenses go as wide as they can. “What, you mean here? At this dive?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugs, a corner of her lips turning up when a full-body tremor runs through Peter. </p><p> </p><p>“Beats sitting in the cold, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“But-- I can’t,” he replies, gesturing to himself. When Natasha continues to stare at him quizzically, he adds, “Y’know, since I’m in my suit? I don’t exactly have another change of clothes under here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh relax, kid,” Natasha says smoothly, smirking as she starts to walk down the slushy steps of the basement dive. “Nobody will care.”</p><p> </p><p>“Easy for you to say-- you’re in your civvies,” Peter protests. “If we’re both in costume, we’re a team. If it’s just me in costume, I’m a jerk.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha doesn’t bother to reply, just opens the door and walks inside, Peter’s jaw clenching when it slams shut behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, really?” he mutters to himself as he reluctantly follows her, shoulders sagging in defeat. </p><p> </p><p>He’d already had a rough night - getting shot at with a BB gun by some punk kids, a cat that had tried to claw his face off and even worse, the awful insults and slurs that he’d heard when he’d ran off some creeps who were following someone on their way home still rumbling around in his head. </p><p> </p><p>Peter was tired, cranky and freezing cold - <em> of course </em> he’d be suckered into following after Natasha for whatever mysterious scheme she tended to find herself in. </p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s already at the bar when he steps inside, and Peter’s eyes go wide when his enhanced hearing catches her ordering an <em> entire </em>750 of Stoli Elit.</p><p> </p><p>“Nat, wait--”</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell are you doing in here?” a slurring voice to Peter’s left bellows then, Peter turning to see a middle-aged man in a leather jacket eyeing him up and down suspiciously. “Think you’re in the wrong place, Spidey. This ain’t your turf.”</p><p> </p><p>“Turf? Didn’t know people still claimed turf in the Upper West Side these days,” Peter quips. “Am I a Jet or a Shark? Wait, wait-- can I be one of the Sharks? They were way better dancers in the movie.”</p><p> </p><p>The drunk guy moves to stand up, looking furious, when a hand lands on Peter’s arm. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t mind him, he just got off a long shift-- some obnoxious five year-old’s birthday party,” Natasha says to the bar customer with a flattering - and very fake - smile, starting to pull Peter away.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, so he’s what-- some kind of clown then? Wiseguy sure seems to think he’s funny,” the drunk guy replies darkly.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse you mister, I <em> am </em> funny!” Peter retorts even as Natasha says over her shoulder, “We all have our flaws.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Peter can argue his point further Natasha drags him over to a booth, depositing him on one bench before settling across from him and plopping the bottle of vodka between them.</p><p> </p><p>“That guy was looking for a fight,” Peter says then, glancing back over at where the drunk guy had sat himself back down-- still side-eyeing Peter between every swig of his beer. “We might have picked the wrong bar.”</p><p> </p><p>“Guys like that make it the right bar, at least for tonight,” Natasha replies airily-- only to pull out a shot glass from one of her coat pockets.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you join the Scouts? Because you certainly came prepared,” Peter quips, watching as she unscrews the bottle of vodka, pouring it with finesse and downing a shot before he can hardly blink.</p><p> </p><p>“The bar mark-up for that has to be at least thirty bucks,” Peter says, then more seriously, “And an entire bottle? What the hell, Nat?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, you don’t think I can handle it?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raising in challenge as she takes another drink, this time directly from the bottle.</p><p> </p><p>Peter studies her for a beat, eyeing her carefully before asking, “Are you okay, Nat?” </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” she says, bringing the bottle to her lips yet again.</p><p> </p><p>Peter waits - though knowing Natasha as well as he did, he could guess from her body language that she wasn’t going to be forthcoming. </p><p> </p><p>But all he wants is to go home - strip off the suit and wash off the city smell, sighing as he asks, “Why exactly did you want to meet tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>“Relax, <em> malen'kiy pauk </em> <em> . </em> It can wait a few minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter snorts, “That would be a lot easier if you weren’t well on your way to downing nearly a liter of mid-shelf vodka. And I’m 24, Nat. You ever gonna stop calling me little spi—“</p><p> </p><p>“Want a taste?” she offers, as if he hadn’t said a word, “It’ll warm you up.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter sighs, bracing his arms on the table in front of them. “I don’t drink when I’m ‘on the job.’ Besides, it’s not like it’ll do anything for me anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“You ever try to find your limits?” Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow as she pours herself another shot.</p><p> </p><p>Peter purses his lips, “Not really. I mean, with my spider-strength that would just be irresponsible.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha smirks at that, downing another shot before saying, “You’re always so responsible…”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter says with a frown, knowing she can’t see it but hoping that she can read his body language anyway.</p><p> </p><p>If she does or doesn’t, Natasha seems completely unfazed as she shrugs her shoulders and says, “You just always need to be the good guy. I used to think I was the good guy, but then I got older and learned that I’m not all that good…” she trails off, eyes shifting elsewhere before continuing, “I’ve broken too many promises to myself and to people I care about.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter shakes his head, “If you only knew about all the shit I’ve had to deal with lately…”</p><p> </p><p>“You got something you need to get off your chest, <em> malen'kiy pauk </em>?” Natasha asks, waving her hand between them as she leans forward, “Lay it on me.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter doesn’t argue about the pet name a second time, distracted now about everything he’d been dealing with lately. </p><p> </p><p>“Well for starters, MJ and I got into a big fight the other day. Some guy at work’s been flirting with her and it’s not a big deal, I guess but I just— I don’t know. I acted like an ass when I met her for lunch last week and now she’s pissed because I don’t ‘trust her’ or whatever,” Peter says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.</p><p> </p><p>“And it’s not that I don’t trust <em> her </em> , I don’t trust <em> him </em> . Which is stupid, I know it’s stupid,” he brings his hand down before continuing, “But I was already pissed off that day because Tony won’t get off my back about working at SI after graduation and I <em> know </em> that’s like the <em> opposite </em> of a problem. Like wow, you got someone willing to offer you a job straight out of grad school? Cry me a river, Parker,” he says with a grimace, seeing Natasha’s eyebrow raise.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“You complain too much,” she says, swirling her glass around. </p><p> </p><p>“Wow. Thanks for the advice, I feel better already,” Peter says sarcastically, seeing the smirk on Natasha’s face.</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs again, “It’s true. Apologize to MJ for being an insecure little shit and tell her <em> why </em> you were acting that way,” she tilts her head, “unless you already did?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Peter mutters, feeling his cheeks flush underneath the mask in embarrassment as Natasha smirks.</p><p> </p><p>“Figures. As for Stark,” Natasha sighs, “he just wants what’s best for you. And if SI isn’t it, tell him that. He’d understand.” A beat. “Eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>Before Peter gets the chance to reply, the guy from before comes stumbling over - the two of them turning as he slurs, “Y’know, my buddy over there says you’re famous.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter looks down to the suit before bringing his head back up, waving his hands impatiently, “Yeah dude. Spider-Man.”</p><p> </p><p>“Not <em> you </em> ,” the man sneers, Peter feeling mildly offended till the guy turns his attention to Natasha, who's steely gaze is focused on the man as he says, “You. Told me you’re <em> Black Widow. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stays silent, Peter tensing slightly as he leans forward and suggestively says, “Well, you know what they say about widows…”</p><p> </p><p>What they say about widows, Peter doesn’t get the chance to learn because without warning - so fast that Peter saw it but had been too in shock to stop it - Natasha flips the back of her shot glass and slams the guy across the face with it, the shattered glass reverberating throughout the dive bar as he staggered backwards.</p><p> </p><p>“What the— you fucking bi—“</p><p> </p><p>“Finish that statement and it’s the last thing you’ll ever say,” Natasha says with a snarl, standing up with her hand reaching behind her, Peter immediately jumping up and standing in between them - hands extended. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, whoa whoa whoa, let’s just… let’s just calm down, alright?” His head snaps towards the drunk guy, nodding towards the bartender, “I think he’s had enough.”</p><p> </p><p>The guy stumbles backwards, Peter turning back to Natasha who eyes the drunk guy carefully - her expression shifting to the cool neutrality he’s seen her use countless times over the years as she slips back into her seat at the booth. </p><p> </p><p>The room feels tense before the patrons slowly start to walk away, Peter almost hissing as he says, “Nat, what the hell was that?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was just blowing off some steam,” she says evenly, grabbing another shot glass from inside her jacket before setting it down on the table in front of them. </p><p> </p><p>Peter stares at her, completely bewildered as he says, “You’re an Avenger, Natasha. People look up to you and you’re… getting into bar fights?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha says nothing, Peter shaking his head again, “C’mon Nat, you’re better than this. You helped train <em> me </em> to be better than this. What’s going on?”</p><p> </p><p>She stays silent, Peter feeling his already diminishing patience wearing thin as he says, “You told me you needed me for something. Are you going to—“</p><p> </p><p>“I need you to sit down in this booth with me, and wait,” Natasha says, eyes glancing up to meet Peter’s.</p><p> </p><p>They stare at each other, daring the other to cave first. But Peter’s never been able to beat her at her own game, sighing as he slides back into the booth.</p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet for a moment, before Natasha says, “Look, I know you think that was idiotic of me—“</p><p> </p><p>“It was.”</p><p> </p><p>“—but back in the Red Room, my handler used to tell the girls a story about Widows who behaved like this.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter stifles a gasp, leaning back against the bench. In all the years he’s known Natasha, she’s <em> never </em> voluntarily talked about her time in the Red Room.</p><p> </p><p>It should be a bit of a red flag that something is wrong - hell, Peter <em> knows </em>it is, can practically see the bright fabric waving in the breeze behind Natasha’s head - but he can’t help the way he perks up, curiosity piqued. </p><p> </p><p>“What was the story?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha takes a slow breath, before meeting his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“A tiny <em> malyshka </em> was once born to a happy young couple-- a grocer and his wife. She was their only child, adored and loved-- but they were killed in a car accident when the girl was barely one years old. For three years the little girl lived in an orphanage until one day, a woman in a red dress came and took her away-- but not to anywhere nice. The woman took her away from the orphanage and put her in a prison instead. There the little girl was raised to fight, and to kill. She was brainwashed to believe that she had no choice-- that she didn’t <em> matter </em> enough to have a choice. Every day this was drilled into her, for ten years. And at the end of the tenth year, she was taken into a room and instructed to lie down on a gurney and secure a gas mask over her nose and mouth. She didn’t want to, but because she thought she had no choice-- she did as she was told. And when she woke up she had a deep pain in her belly, but no idea why.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha pauses, taking another swig of the Stoli, still staring straight into Peter’s eyes as she continues, “But one day, another decade later, the <em> malyshka </em> - by now a young woman - realized she did in fact have a choice. That she didn’t have to kill on command, or follow every order she was given. So she ran away from the prison, and after a while she found a new home, with a new family. And with that family she had many adventures. And things were better than they had been since she could remember, but still-- something felt missing. Like an essential piece of her had been stolen, never to be returned. And no matter what the woman did to atone for past sins, she would never find those missing pieces of her soul.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s silence between them for a few moments, Peter swallowing hard before he asks, “Nat, why would you tell me your--”</p><p> </p><p>“Why did my handler tell us that story?” Natasha interrupts pointedly. She takes another drink from the bottle, before carefully setting it down on the sticky surface of the booth table. </p><p> </p><p>“To remind us all that were a Black Widow foolish enough to run away and by some unimaginable luck actually survive the attempt-- that even then, she would never be able to outrun her past. She told us that story to make sure every girl in the program knew beyond a doubt that being given back our <em> choices </em> could be an even worse fate than having no choices at all.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter sits in stunned silence, watching as Natasha sits unmoving, staring down at the nearly half-empty bottle with a faraway look in her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Nat, I…”</p><p> </p><p>Whatever awkward thing Peter was about to come up with next, it’s interrupted when the drunk guy from before suddenly reappears at their booth-- brandishing a pocketknife in one hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s finish this here and now, you bitch!”</p><p> </p><p>The man swipes at Natasha but drunk as he is, he misses by a good foot. Peter stands up, reaching out to still the man’s flailing arm and force him to drop the weapon but he’s a beat too late-- Natasha rising out of her side of the booth with all the litheness of a panther and snatching the knife from the man’s hand first. </p><p> </p><p>With her other arm she grabs the man by his jacket, swinging him to the side until his back meets the booth table top-- breaking the table straight down the middle. The bottle of vodka goes flying over the edge, Peter jumping out of the way before he can get splashed with broken glass or even worse, bitter alcohol-- turning to look at Natasha just as she leans in close to the now-terrified man’s face, pressing the tip of the knife against his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“I warned you, you piece of shit,” she yells in his face, Peter’s mask lenses widening in horror when he sees her press the knife in enough to draw blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Nat, stop it,” he says-- reaching out to grab her on instinct but thinking better of it at the last moment, letting his hand linger in the air between them. “You don’t want to do this!”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turns a fierce expression on him, voice low and threatening when she says, “Yes, I do.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you don’t,” Peter repeats, before carefully placing his hand on her shoulder. “You know why? Because you’re Natasha Romanoff and you’re better than this.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter can see the battle happening behind Natasha’s eyes as she stares up at him, jaw tight and lips trembling with rage. The entire bar is quiet now but for the sounds of Tom Petty running down a dream, and Peter almost thinks he’ll actually have to resort to physical force to get Natasha off the guy when she smoothly straightens, dropping the knife and kicking it into an empty corner. </p><p> </p><p>Without another word she stalks past Peter and disappears out the door, Peter looking around at the wide-eyed customers before walking over to the bar and pulling a small, embossed card out of a hidden suit pocket, handing it to the bartender.</p><p> </p><p>Thanking his lucky stars he remembered to restock a few of Tony’s anonymous business cards after the last time he washed this particular suit, Peter says, “Call that number. They’ll cover the tab and any damage to the booth.”</p><p> </p><p>He turns to the crowd. “Hope you enjoyed the show, folks. Thank you for being too intoxicated to film it!”</p><p> </p><p>With that he makes his exit before any of the stunned patrons or staff can think to chase after them.</p><p> </p><p>He’s surprised to find Natasha is right outside the door-- standing in the freezing cold and having the gall to look annoyed with him, as if he’s kept her waiting.</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously, Nat? Did you really have to try to redecorate the place?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugs. “Like you said, it was a shithole anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter groans in frustration, throwing his hands up as snow lightly starts to fall. He turns to look at Natasha, fuming at how completely impassive she is.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, this has gotten way out of hand. I’m tired, I’m exhausted, I’m freezing my ass off and I have a shit ton of homework to do before I can even think of going to bed.”</p><p> </p><p>He huffs, putting his hands down before asking, “How much longer do I need to stick around? The sooner we call it a night, the better.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha blinks, glancing down to her watch before nodding, “It’s 12:03. You can go. My birthday’s over.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter does a double take, sure he must’ve heard her incorrectly as he asks, “Your <em> birthday </em>? THAT was the emergency?”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha shrugs nonchalantly once again, “I needed a drinking buddy.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter feels the annoyance rising, gritting his teeth as he asks, “And you couldn’t have asked, I dunno, one of the <em> Avengers?” </em></p><p> </p><p>“The Avengers are like my family—“ Natasha calmly replies, Peter interjecting. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, that's who you’re supposed to spend your birthday with!” </p><p> </p><p>The implication that Peter doesn’t consider himself a part of Natasha’s family hangs in the air, a distant part of Peter that’s been raised better than this wanting to clear the air and apologize.</p><p> </p><p>But Peter’s exhausted - mentally and physically - letting the words sit between them as Natasha continues, “Every single one of them would die for me. But they <em> know </em> me-- they know who I am, everything I’ve done…” she trails off, Peter feeling more confused than before.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t— come on, Nat. Talk to me.”</p><p> </p><p>When Natasha doesn't reply, Peter says with a sigh, “Okay, so don’t talk. But just-- why me?”</p><p> </p><p>Her voice is so low that had it not been for his super hearing, Peter might not have heard her response as she says, “Because you didn’t think I’d do it.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” he asks, Natasha staring at him with that same impassive look on her face.</p><p> </p><p>“Back there,” she nods to the bar they’d just kicked themselves out of, “You didn’t think I’d kill the guy. It’s like you said - you expect better from me….” A ghost of a smile forms on her lips, “You’re one of the only ones left who does.”</p><p> </p><p>Peter instantly feels like shit, her words hitting him straight in the chest at the realization of what Natasha had wanted from him tonight and how much he’d failed in giving it to her. </p><p> </p><p>But before Peter can spiral any further into self-pity, she walks up to him and says, “You’re a good person, Peter. And you’re just enough of a dumbass to think I am too.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha places a hand to his shoulder, patting it before bringing her hand down, “That’s why.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, uh, thanks. I guess?” Peter replies awkwardly, shifting his weight back and forth less from the cold but from the guilt creeping down his spine.</p><p> </p><p>Natasha turns without saying goodbye, seemingly content to let the night end now that it was past midnight. </p><p> </p><p>Peter watches as she walks down the street, considering the night’s events for a beat - wondering if that would really be the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>But his conscience gets the better of him, finding himself walking in the same direction as he calls out, “Hey uh, if you’re hungry, there’s a great 24 hour diner about three blocks from here. The old man Sal who runs the joint makes a mean apple pie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Apple pie is for <em> deti.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Peter says with a smile, knowing she can’t see it but hoping she takes the olive branch all the same, “he also makes some killer Syrniki.”</p><p> </p><p>Natasha stares at him so fiercely that Peter <em> almost </em> wants to take a step back, forcing himself to stand his ground as he waits.</p><p> </p><p>He’d fucked up by not picking up the context clues before - why Natasha would want to meet with him randomly in the middle of the night, why she’d willingly spill out her life story under a thinly veiled analogy and why she’d been so quick to fight when everything Peter knows about her up to now told him she was the epitome of control.</p><p> </p><p>Peter couldn’t change how he’d been the first half of the night but he could hope that she’d be willing to try again - allow him the chance to make the first hour of her new day better than what the last one had been. </p><p> </p><p>His patience is finally rewarded when Natasha actually smiles at him, tilting her head forward.</p><p> </p><p>“Well <em> malen'kiy pauk, </em> I don’t have all night. Lead the way.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspiration for this fic along with several quotes taken from <a href="https://m.imgur.com/gallery/KiW7W">this comic.</a></p><p>Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Or come hang out with us on tumblr: <a href="https://blondsak.tumblr.com">blondsak</a> and <a href="https://seek-rest.tumblr.com">seekrest</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>